She looked terrified.
Her mouth fell open. “Emily?”
The word barely escaped her, choked by shock.
My parents stiffened in the front row. My mother clutched her pearls. My father’s face hardened—angry that I dared disrupt the image he’d so carefully constructed.
I stopped near the altar, turned to the priest, and said evenly, “Yes. I object.”
A ripple of murmurs spread. Cameras lifted. The room leaned in.
Jason, the groom, looked confused but concerned. Not angry. Not dismissive. I saw questions in his eyes—questions Allison had never allowed.
I raised my phone.
“Allison told me not to attend today,” I said calmly.
“She said I was too embarrassing for photos. And my parents agreed.”
Gasps echoed through the pews.
My father jumped up. “Emily, that’s enough—”
I pressed play.
Allison’s voice rang through the cathedral:
“I don’t want a fat woman in my family photos. Stay away.”
